


aligned

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, two very lonely childhoods in different and similar ways, very minor clem/gucci and millie/ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25687000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: The story of two people on Partizan, molded for specific futures they never fit.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	aligned

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to Lu, for [her art of Millie](https://twitter.com/smallpolar_bear/status/1287559712804921344) and also for Lu, because she wanted more fics about Clem's childhood ("they're too sad to write" I said, AND YET).

When Ver'Million Blue is born there is no fanfare, just a simple light flicking from yellow to green on the control panel of the cloning pod. One of the engineers tasked with monitoring the chambers takes her down to the nursery for the next stage of her development process. They check her vitals and note them down, all well in normal ranges, and then hand her off to the next engineer in line. Her tiny hand reaches out, grasping hold of one of the buttons on their lapel, and the engineer smiles down at her for a moment, keeping her close as they take her to her new sleeping pod.

Eventually, she will be turned into a weapon, but first she must learn the same things as every other living creature and a few other things besides, how to walk and talk, how to take orders, how to pull apart a gun. She will be sharpened from child to sword, for the glory of Apostolos.

-

When Clementine Kesh is born it is to much fervour and speculation, none of which are from Crysanth. Crysanth hands her to a nursemaid as soon as she catches her breath from the birth, wrinkling her nose as Clementine begins to cry. She waves the nursemaid away and they silently obey, their face impassive as they look down at Clementine's pink face. Her loud shrieks echo down the hall, the sounds trailing away as the doors close between her and her mother.

Crysanth sighs, reaching for her datapad. Not an auspicious sign, but perhaps with time and training the child would be less abrasive, something Crysanth could reach for and wield as easily as she did Kesh’s spies.

-

It isn't until well after Millie can talk that she begins to be curious about her parents. She knows she’s a clone, everyone in the Glory program is and she understands that, but everyone has to come from  _ somewhere. _ She searches through old history texts, trying to find the start of things, trying to find her origin point.

"It was Eidolon Vervain," says her Instructor, when Millie finally gathers the courage to ask, "it says so in your files."

She knows that, obviously, she's read her file so many times she basically has it memorised, but that particular fragment of information has never sat right with her. It's who she's cloned from, sure, but they lived and died so long ago that she can barely see herself in them. Their mirrored features feel foreign to her, when she looks up at their portrait above her bed.

"I know," says Millie, steeling herself, "but…"

"Cadet Blue," says her Instructor, finally setting down their stylus, "you understand that you are a clone, yes? Your parents are their parents."

Millie looks down at her feet, focussing her eyes on the scruff at the toe of her boots. She'll have to polish them before morning if she doesn't want her squad to get penalised. 

"Ver'million. Do you understand?"

Millie swallows. "Yes. I understand."

"Good." Her instructor pauses, their voice softening slightly. "If you have an interest in our history, I will give you permission for the extra study time."

Millie nods quickly. Anything to keep her out of additional weapons training.

-

By the time Clementine herself is able to understand the situation of her parentage, who her father is will no longer be of any consequence. She will be told his name and she will set it aside as easily as Crysanth herself had done. 

Clementine knows it's right for her to do this, because Crysanth nods at her, pleased, when she does not have any questions about him, even if holding the questions inside makes her stomach squirm. Even that feeling is okay. She assumes that's just how one feels around their parents.

Her mother's Sovereign Immunity stops by her playroom in the afternoon, graciously accepting Clementine's offer of tea and taking a seat on the floor between two of her dolls.

"This are the Princesses Maxine and Demani," says Clementine.

Sovereign Immunity inclines his head to them both in greeting. "Pleased to meet you both."

"Thank you," says Clementine. She pauses, lowering her voice. "They are dolls, you know, and cannot speak."

Sovereign Immunity raises his eyebrows. "They- yes, they are."

"You may speak to them though,* says Clementine, pouring tea into a tiny, gold-rimmed teacup for Sovereign Immunity, "I have been told that that is what one does with dolls."

"Sure," says Sovereign Immunity. He presses his lips together. "What were you… what were you doing with them before you were told that?"

Clementine shrugs and then stills, her eyes quickly going to his face. She's been told that those of her standing should never  _ shrug _ . Sovereign Immunity gives no sign that he's noticed her indiscretion, and Clementine lets out a breath.

"I wasn't playing with them at all," says Clementine, "No one told me to."

"You don't like them?" says Sovereign Immunity cautiously.

Clementine shrugs again. "They're fine."

Sovereign Immunity pauses. "Clementine… what toy  _ would  _ you like?"

Clementine looks up at him. She swallows, her mind clumsily grasping for the things she knows about him, what the right answer is. Her mother’s Sovereign Immunity is important, and she knows better than to give a rash answer to someone in Crysanth’s employ, even if they are kind-hearted enough to spare the time to take tea with her.

"Books," says Clementine, finally.

Sovereign Immunity laughs, and Clementine stomach squirms. His expression fades a little.

"It's- Clementine you're not going to be in trouble for not liking the dolls-"

"I do!" Says Clementine loudly, "I do like them!"

Sovereign Immunity holds up a hand. "Okay, okay, sure. But  _ apart  _ from them, what would you  _ really _ like?"

Clementine kicks her feet, thinking for a moment, and listening. They’re alone, as far as she can tell. There’s always the chance this is a test from Crysanth, of course, but Sovereign Immunity’s face is open.

She presses her lips together, and lets the truth come out. "A puppy. Gucci Garantine got one for her birthday."

A smile hovers at the edges of his mouth and Clementine feels a rush of relief. 

"I don't think your mother would like it much if I got you one of those."

"No," says Clementine, "She wouldn't. I think that's why she told someone to get me these dolls."

Sovereign Immunity snorts, an undignified suppressed laugh. The sound startles a laugh out of Clementine, and she quickly takes a sip of tea to cover the sound.

Sovereign Immunity stays for three tiny cups before he leaves, promising to return soon. Clementine tries not to hold it against him when he fails to return.

-

Millie keeps her uniform pristine. It’s part of her training in a round-about way, making sure that she, and the rest of her squad, can follow the uniform code. They’re checked every morning and evening and, every so often, randomly during the day. The punishments for infractions are never  _ severe _ , at least, they’re not for anyone of Millie’s squad, because she  _ always  _ double checks everyone’s lockers before their Instructors make their rounds. They get hurt enough in training without bringing the pain into their dorm.

She’s not a  _ motherly _ figure by any means, but seeing as the squad is the closest any of them will know to family she might as well  _ try _ to protect the others. She learns how to iron a crease into their dress pants and carefully shows the others, making sure their lines are straight for inspection.

She never really knows if her lessons have stuck or not, until once when she’s in the infirmary for a day and a half, and she comes back to everything looking far better than she’d left it, the others in the squad smiling shyly at her. Millie smiles back, and odd warmth uncurling in her chest.

Not a family, but close enough.

-

Clementine’s gowns are always spotless. They almost have to be, since her mother began to favour her in white gowns. It was something about crafting an image, or using Kesh heritage, or something. She wasn’t really listening. After all, it’s not as though she could argue against it, so to know the reason behind it feels like a pointless exercise.

It makes it almost impossible to  _ do _ anything. She can barely make a slow circle around the gardens without a grass stain making itself known on her clothing. It doesn’t matter if her mother’s around or not - she’s left the maids with strict orders, and so as soon as they notice Clementine finds herself hustled away from the outdoors and into fresh, white clothing.

She almost gives up moving at all during the day, lazing the time away in the sunroom and waits for night to fall, so she can sneak out and run around in her nightclothes. She almost prefers it - in the darkness, no one can see whether she moves gracefully or not. Mostly, she doesn’t, she runs lap after lap of the garden until the itch under her skin has burnt itself out, and then crawls into bed, the bottom of her white nightgown still cold and damp with dew from the grass.

-

In weapons training simulations, Millie excels. In any real world test, her scores are  _ abysmal _ . It’s a problem, she knows it is, and it’s not even - it  _ shouldn’t _ even - be a problem. There’s not supposed to be a difference to her between shooting a virtual figure and shooting a live one. It’s supposed to feel the same.

“It’s- it doesn’t feel right,” says Millie, trying to explain to her Instructor. The words feel clumsy on her tongue.

Her Instructor claps her on the shoulder. “You just need more practise. You’ll get used to it.”

There’s a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t  _ want _ to get used to it, she wants to  _ not do it at all _ , but the Apostalisians didn’t create the Glory program to let their test subjects choose their own career paths.

She gets put on double the real-world tests until her score improve. With every point her numbers go up, the cold, rolling feeling in the pit of her stomach gets a little stronger.

She does get used to it.

-

There was a period of time where Clementine tried very hard in her studies. Nothing seemed to come to her as easily as her tutors seemed to think it would, their lesson plans stretching over months instead of weeks, but Clementine  _ tries _ . She really, truly does, and she feels delighted to learn that she’s made it into the top third of her age range.

Her mother comes to visit, a rarer and rarer occurrence, and Clementine’s delight grows. Surely, her grades are why her mother has come.

They are, but not for the reason Clementine thought. She stands outside the sitting room and listens to her mother’s dry despair at her fool of a daughter, who would be an embarrassment to her if the rest of the family ever considered her at all..

Sovereign Immunity’s eyes meet Clementine’s through the crack in the door. “Come on, she’s not-”

Crysanth  _ laughs _ . It is not a joyful sound.

Clementine hurries away, careful to move quietly on the tiled floor, and hides herself in the back of one of the closest in one of the smaller guest rooms. It’s childish, perhaps, but she’s always so hated for anybody to see her cry.

She doesn’t come back out until late in the evening, until she can be sure that anyone looking for her has long since given up, and goes to bed. Her mother will chastise her, surely, for skipping a meal together, but it feels as though it barely matters. It’s pointless to put on a brave face through dinner when one more black mark against her in her mother’s eyes can’t truly make a difference.

She passes on her excuses through the maids, and when Sovereign Immunity knocks at the door she pretends to be asleep. He leaves as quietly as he had come.

-

Now that they’re older, the members of her Glory squad get more time to themselves. Some of them use it for extra training sessions, or to catch up on sleep, or to go down to the kitchens and flirt with one of the cook’s assistants. Millie’s begun to enjoy the luxury of long showers. By some loophole, the water she uses during her time off doesn’t get added to her ration, and she intends to make the most of it.

After, she wipes steam from the mirror and looks at herself. It’s strange, having a body that is a copy of someone else’s, like she’s permanently borrowing the identity of a long-dead hero, at least until she dies, too, and then this body will belong to someone else again, whoever’s next in the tanks.

She peers closer in the mirror, wiping off another layer of steam as it rises from her skin onto the glass. There are freckles across her nose, which the Edion certainly did not have, at least not according to any picture Millie has ever seen of them. She touches them with the tips of her fingers, at little wonderingly.

_ This body is mine, too _ , thinks Millie.

Maybe she’ll cut her hair. Claim a little more ownership while she has control of this body.

-

Clem is late to her sixteenth birthday. She is late because she cannot choose an outfit, even though her maids assure her that any flaw she can perceive will be smoothed out of her after teenage years have passed. They talk amongst themselves, used to her silence, as they help her disguise herself, hours a makeup and elaborately constructed undergarments that make it hard to breath, and then they leave her to return to serving at the party.

Her breathing is ragged in the quiet bedroom as she curls her fingers, digging her nails into her palms. She will not cry. She will  _ not. _

She doesn't cry at all during the party, but she doesn't laugh either. Gucci Garantine, although invited, is not in attendance. Nobody notices.

She hears later that people had a wonderful time, and she digs her nails into her palms, trying her best to feel nothing at all.

-

In her dreams Millie  _ flies _ . It feels different to the mech simulations she’s run. In the dreams, she’s lighter, tied down to nothing, soaring above the city and little it grows smaller and smaller beneath her until she loses sight of it completely.

That’s the best part of the dream, for Millie. The moment when the land below her disappears and she’s flying through the clear blue sky, free at last.

-

Clem rarely dreams of anything at all. Even when she does, she can only ever remember fragments. The throne on fire. Gucci dancing close to her. Her mother’s hands around her throat. Someone calling out her name, too far away for her to truly know their voice.

She’s glad not to remember.

-

Military drills, for Millie, have always felt easy and painless, apart from the dull ache in her body. She much prefers that to their training sessions in the field, a sharp spike of pain in her shoulder as she pulls another cadet from the line of fire.

“You’re not supposed to do that you know,” says the other cadet, “we’re on opposite teams.”

“I’m taking  _ leave no Apostalisian _ behind very literally in my oaths,” says Millie.

They grin up at her weakly before the pass out. Millie drags them the rest of the way to the infirmary tent, where the medical staff insist on looking at her shoulder too. It’s because of that, and no other reason, that she’s next to the other cadet when they wake up.

“Staying around for a hero’s welcome?” they rasp out.

“So I’m your hero?” says Millie.

They splutter, the sound of it turning to laughter. Millie grins, pouring them a glass of water. Their fingers linger against her’s on the glass and they glance around, their eyes landing on a spot by the tent flap opening. Millie follows their gaze, noting the camera’ position. 

She shifts in her chair slightly and the other cadet wiggles, moving into the camera’s blindspot. It’s her first kiss, stolen and brief, and entirely her’s.

-

There are a great many events where the only things Clem is required to do is to stand and smile. This is especially true when her mother is visiting. The inside of Clem’s cheek is raw from where she keeps biting it in an attempt to stifle sighs, and other outward signs that she might not find Kesh’s military history as entirely fascinating as she’s supposed to.

She feels Gucci step beside her, under the prextex of getting another drink at the bar. She  _ knows _ it’s a pretex, because she can see Gucci’s current drink is still half full, and Gucci never gets truly drunk at a party with Crysanth in attendance.

In Gucci’s presence, Clem allows herself a single, quiet sigh. Although her body does not move, Gucci’s eyes flick towards Clem.

“I might as well be a piece of furniture," says Clem, keeping her voice low.

Gucci hums. Clem’s come to learn the tones of it, and she waits for Gucci to put forth whatever idea is on the tip of her tongue.

“We could always step outside for a moment,” says Gucci, “Get some air.”

Clem presses her lips together, glancing towards Crysanth. Her mother’s back is towards her, and although Clem has no doubt that her mother will hear of this, somehow, the absence of Crysanth’s eyes on her gives her the energy to lean away from the bar.

“I- okay,” says Clem, “Let’s go then.”

“What about my drink?”

“You can share mine,” says Clem.

Gucci raises her eyebrow. “Alright.”

Clem leads her out into the cool night air, until the sound of the party is muffled by the greenery around them. She shivers a little as she sits on the marble bench, another shiver going through her body as Gucci takes a seat next to her, close enough the Clem can feel the heat of Gucci’s arm against her, their fingers tangling together.

She turns her head, and Gucci mirrors her motion, smiling as she leans it. It’s her first kiss, quiet and soft and entirely her’s.

-

Mech training is by far Millie’s favourite session of the day. Much of her training is easy to her now, more muscle memory than thought, but mech training is different. She moves, feeling the weight of the mech follow her, heavy and powerful through the air. The strength of it feels as unstoppable as Motion.

Sometimes, she finds herself glancing towards the perimeter of the training grounds, idly calculating how far she could get before they disable the mech and her with it. She won’t do it, of course, it would be foolish to even try.

It’s just something to think about.

-

Rowing, oddly enough, turns out to be the class Clem is best at. It’s not really a  _ class _ persay, more of an optional extra-curricular, but still. She finds the pull of the boat through the water comforting, the rhythm of it feeling strong and steady as Past.

The lake they use is so large that it is almost impossible to see the other shore, but Clem knows it’s there. The expansive space feels smaller once she’s reached the shore a few times, and she lets herself drift in the middle of the lake, peering into the water. It’s very deep, almost pitch black, making the lake feel bottomless.

She dips her hand into the water, the chill of it stinging her skin, and draws her hand back out slowly, examining the water the water drips from her hand back into the lake, the small ripples spreading out from her movement, her impact on the water’s surface visible for a moment.

Clem rows back to shore, and tries not to think about the deep water underneath her.

-

It’s her mech, in the end, that helps Millie get away. She never quite manages to leave the ground behind, like her dreams. She never quite manages to get light enough. The battle rages on behind her and she doesn’t stop, dragging herself away until the machine around her begins to groan with exhaustion. 

It’s that exhaustion that makes it easy for Kesh to sneak up behind her, and then her life is out of her hands once again.

-

It’s a visit from her mother, as always, that prompts it. At least this time, the lecture is followed by a gift, her very own squad, her very own mission, almost. She’ll still be getting instruction from her mother, but perhaps in time that will fade, or other things will take Crysanth’s eyes off Clem for long enough that she can make a few plans of her own.

-

  
  
  
  


Clem and Millie look at each other from opposite sides of the prison mesh, and begin down the same path together, at least for a short time.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
